The engine hummed softly in the silence as Dominic parked the car outside the house. The iron gates remained closed for a moment, as though hesitant to let the world intrude on the quiet that had wrapped itself around them since they left Stone & Vale. Neither he nor Amira had said much during the ride, both too wrapped in the echoes of what had just happened.
Jason's voice still rang in Amira's ears—bitter, accusing, loud enough to drown out her heartbeat. She hadn't seen that version of him before. Or maybe she had, and had simply been too in love to recognize it.
Dominic's declaration replayed just as vividly: "Is there a reason you're manhandling my wife in my building?"
Wife.
The word still felt like a costume she wasn't used to wearing. But in that moment, it had fit her perfectly.
He turned to her now, one hand still on the gear shift, the other resting lightly on the steering wheel. "Are you okay?"
His voice was quiet, the sharpness from earlier now replaced by something gentler—concern, maybe. She nodded once.
"I will be."
Dominic studied her for a second longer, then nodded and unlocked the doors. As she stepped out of the car, Amira caught sight of the gate opening ahead. She paused before heading inside.
Jason had tried to follow them when they left—his face twisted in disbelief, lips moving with things she didn't care to remember. But then, unexpectedly, Lila had stopped him. She hadn't said a word throughout the confrontation, but now—now, she had reached for Jason's arm and held him back.
That had been the last image in the rearview mirror before they drove off: Jason frozen in place, Lila gripping his sleeve, and a dozen stunned eyes watching from the polished walls of Stone & Vale.
"Will you be alright?" Dominic asked again from the car.
Amira looked back and managed a small smile. "Yes. Thank you… for what you said back there."
His eyes softened. "Anytime."
Then he drove off, disappearing down the quiet road.
Inside the house, everything was just as they'd left it. Amira slipped out of her shoes and padded toward the living room, her heart beginning to settle after the storm of emotions. She didn't expect to find Claire sitting on the couch, flipping through an old photo album with a mug of tea in hand.
"Oh, darling," Claire said, smiling warmly as Amira entered. "You're home early. Everything okay?"
Amira hesitated before nodding. "Yeah. Just… a strange day."
Claire patted the couch beside her. "Come, sit. Want some tea?"
Amira sank into the cushions, grateful for the gentle presence beside her. "No, thank you. I'm just… tired, I guess."
Claire closed the album gently, her smile fading into something quieter. "You look like you're carrying something heavy."
Amira didn't respond right away. Her hands rested in her lap, twisting lightly, and for a moment she debated brushing it off. But something about Claire—maybe her warmth, or the way her eyes mirrored a kind of grief Amira recognized—made her exhale and speak.
"I don't talk about my family often," she began. "Not because I don't want to. It's just… there's not much left to talk about."
Claire said nothing, just waited patiently.
"My mom died when I was born," Amira said. "Complications during delivery. I never got to meet her, but my dad… he was everything. He raised me alone. Taught me how to ride a bike, how to cook burnt rice without setting the kitchen on fire. He was my world."
Claire smiled softly. "He sounds like he was a good man."
"He was," Amira said, her voice catching. "He worked construction. Always took extra shifts so I could go to school. He never complained, even when he was tired, even when he came home with dust in his eyes and back pain that made him wince just from bending down."
There was a pause.
"How did he…?" Claire asked gently.
"There was an accident," Amira whispered. "A site collapsed. They said he was trapped under for hours before they found him."
Claire reached for her hand, gripping it tightly.
"I was nineteen," Amira continued. "College was already hard, and then suddenly, I had to plan a funeral. I didn't know how to breathe after that, let alone study. I felt so… alone."
Claire's thumb brushed over her knuckles. "You weren't alone. You were grieving. That kind of loss… it never fully leaves you."
Amira blinked fast, eyes burning. "That was when I met Jason."
Claire's expression didn't change, but Amira could see her listening even more intently now.
"He was my dad's friend's son. We met again after the funeral—he came to pay his respects. We started talking. He told me about how our dads were friends back in the day. He remembered me when I was little."
She gave a sad laugh. "We started sharing memories, and it helped. Talking about our fathers made it feel like I hadn't lost him entirely. Jason comforted me when I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror. And for a long time, I thought… maybe this was fate giving me someone."
Claire didn't speak, but the way she squeezed Amira's hand told her to go on.
"We dated for over five years. I trusted him with everything. My hopes, my fears, my body—" Her voice cracked. "Then I caught him with my best friend."
Claire let out a slow breath. "Oh, sweetheart…"
"She was wearing a necklace I gave her. One my dad gave me for my sixteenth birthday. I had no idea they'd been sneaking behind my back."
Tears finally fell—quiet, hot streaks down her cheeks.
Claire pulled her close.
They didn't speak for a while. Grief spoke for them in the silence.
After a long moment, Claire said, "You know… I lost someone too."
Amira pulled back just enough to look at her.
"My husband. Dominic's father. He died when Dominic was five. Military duty overseas. One day, he was reading bedtime stories with Dominic. The next… we got a letter."
Amira's breath caught.
"Dominic didn't understand. He asked every night when Daddy was coming back. I had no answer to give him. And so I did the only thing I could. I stayed. I mothered, I worked, I grieved in private."
She smiled sadly. "And now he takes care of me. That boy, that little boy with tear-streaked cheeks who couldn't sleep without hugging his father's pillow—he grew up. I only wish his father could see him now."
Amira swallowed hard, aching for the child Claire spoke of, for the woman she had been. For herself.
"I think I needed to hear that," Amira said.
Claire tilted her head. "We all carry things, Amira. But that doesn't mean we have to carry them alone."
A small smile tugged at Amira's lips.
Claire brightened a little. "Come on. Let me show you something that might cheer you up."
She reached for the photo album she'd been flipping through earlier and opened it to a page filled with baby pictures. One in particular caught Amira's eye—Dominic, maybe three years old, screaming in terror at a Mickey Mouse mascot.
Claire laughed. "He was terrified of costumes. That poor actor probably needed therapy after Dominic kicked him in the shin."
Amira laughed through the tear streaks. "He looks like a tiny dictator."
"Oh, he was," Claire said, flipping to the next page. "This was his 'I won't eat broccoli' phase. Lasted a year. We had to hide greens in smoothies."
They kept flipping—first day of school, messy birthday cakes, an awkward teen phase with glasses and too-long limbs. Amira's heart softened with each page.
Then Claire said casually, "His birthday's tomorrow, you know."
Amira blinked. "It is?"
"Mhm. June sixth. He doesn't like big celebrations, but I always plan something small. He pretends to be annoyed, but he secretly loves it."
Amira smiled.
"He always makes up some horrible excuse every year.He probably wanted to avoid the decorations." Claire said while grinning.
Just then, the front door clicked open, and Dominic's voice rang out. "Mom? Amira?"
"In here!" Claire called, mischief in her voice.
Dominic entered the living room, pausing at the sight of the two women laughing over his childhood photos. His eyes narrowed. "No. Whatever she told you, it's a lie."
Amira burst out laughing, holding up the Mickey Mouse picture. "I don't know, this seems pretty real."
Dominic groaned. "Mom!"
Claire just beamed. "You were adorable."
Dominic ran a hand through his hair. "I knew letting you two talk was dangerous."
Amira met his gaze, and for a second, something warm passed between them. An understanding. A shared space, growing bigger.
Claire closed the album and rose from the couch. "Well, now that you're home, I'll go prep dinner. Don't spoil your appetite."
She left the room, humming softly.
Amira leaned back on the couch and looked at Dominic. "You never told me your birthday was tomorrow."
He blinked. "Didn't think it mattered."
"It does."
Their eyes held.
And for the first time since this whirlwind began, Amira realized something had shifted. Not just between her and Dominic—but within her.
She didn't feel like a guest anymore.
She felt like someone who belonged